Fingerpaints
by ournoisyhearts
Summary: Dean introduces Sammy to the art of finger painting. Wee!Chesters.


**I'm new to the SPN archive, and the first thing I discovered that I absolutely fell in love with was Weechester. Please don't eat me if this is terrible, AU, OOC, or whatever. 'Kay? Thanks.**

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_Finger Paints_

"I'm bored, Dean!" Seven year old Sam Winchester whined, throwing his tiny fist repeatedly into his older brother's side. Dean caught the smaller boy's hand after the sixth or seventh punch and gripped it tightly, turning from his spot on the sofa to look at him. He had expected that Sam would be bored after a few days of being holed up in their tiny motel room while their dad was on a hunt, but surprisingly Sam had held out almost a week without growing anxious. Dean, on the other hand, was about to go crazy.

"Cut it out!" He said sternly, turning back to the television. Sam grunted and tugged on Dean's sleeve, his lips turning downwards into a pout.

"But Deeeeaaaaaannnn!" Sam moaned, putting on his best puppy dog look. Dean turned to him again and rolled his eyes. _How could he say no to the puppy dog face?_

"Just…sit and watch cartoons with me, okay?" He decided finally, patting the spot beside him on the couch. Sam ran over and plopped down next to his brother, staring intently at the screen. After a few minutes he snuck a peek back over at Dean, who was fixated on the show and seemed to have completely forgotten about him. He yanked on Dean's sleeve again and kept pulling until his brother met his gaze angrily.

"What now?!" He demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Sam leaned back into the couch and pulled his knees up to his chest, sticking out his lower lip.

"This is boring!" He complained. Dean sighed and stood up, turning off the television and walking over to the dresser positioned next to the worn out bed. He opened the top drawer and rummaged around a bit until he found what he was looking for and pulled it out, setting it on the bed beside him.

"What's that?" Sam asked curiously, scurrying over to look. Dean closed the drawer and grabbed the things off the bed, dropping them onto the carpet in front of the couch.

"Finger paints," he explained. As Sam kneeled down in front of the colorful bottles curiously, Dean walked over to the table and grabbed that morning's newspaper, spreading it out in front of his brother. He then grabbed some paper plates from the counter in the kitchen and set them down as well before squatting down next to Sam. The younger boy watched excitedly as Dean popped the lid off the red paint, squirting some onto one of the plates.

"Why do you use your fingers when you could just use brushes? Isn't it just messier?" Sam asked. Dean ignored the question and pushed the plate over to him, pushing back his shirt sleeves.

"Watch," he commanded. He placed his whole hand into the puddle of liquid and then carefully smeared some across the newspaper, rubbing his fingers around in a circle. "You just get some paint, and then you can make whatever you want."

Sam's eyes widened and he leaned forward happily. "Can I try?!"

Dean nodded and helped his brother get some paint on his hand before leading him over to the newspaper, pressing his hand against it. Sam's mouth fell open as he moved his hand all over the paper, the red splotches eerily reminding Dean of blood. Once they ran out of red paint, Sam clapped his sticky hands together and grinned.

"More!" He shrieked, reaching for another bottle of paint. Dean beat him to it and grabbed the blue bottle, pouring some of it onto a different plate.

Sam immediately stuck his already red stained hands into the gooey mess, slapping it onto the newspaper. He cried with laughter and started covering his entire forearms with paint, rolling them across his masterpiece. Dean smiled and stood up, watching as his brother did his work. He had to bring more paint over a total of five times before all of the newspaper was covered, but finally there was no more space left and Sam pushed himself up off the ground, his smile tearing at his lips.

"That was AWESOME!"

Dean laughed and grabbed his brother by the head, dragging him over to the sink. He turned on the tap and helped Sam scrub the color off his hands and arms, and then together they threw away the paper plates and put away the paint bottles.

Once they were finished cleaning up, Sam ran over and grabbed his newspapers, extending them out to Dean. "Can we put them up?"

"Of course we can, Sammy," Dean replied. He went over to his dad's leftover suitcase and rummaged around past the many weapons, gadgets, and clothes until he found a roll of duct tape. He tore off a couple of pieces and helped his brother hang up his pictures on the motel room wall, right across from the bed. Once that was complete the two stepped back to see how it looked.

"It's perfect!!" Sam squealed. He threw his arms around his big brother and buried his face into his stomach. "You're the best, Dean!"

Dean smiled. Even though Sam could be annoying sometimes, he loved seeing him so happy. "So, do you still want to know why we used our fingers instead of paintbrushes?"

Sam pulled away and looked up at him, his face proud. "Nope! I figured it out!"

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked, smiling. "Then why?"

"It's because they're called _finger _paints! Not paintbrush paints," Sam replied in a "duh" sort of tone.

Dean grabbed his brother by the waist and started tickling his armpits, earning a few giggles and squeals from the smaller boy. "Good job, Sammy. You're a genius."

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***ducks from the flying tomatoes* No! Please! It was my first try! Don't- agh! No, hey, watch the face! *a brick flies forward* Whoa! Easy now!**

***hides behind a wall* Review and let me know if you thought it was terrible please? *ducks back down from a knife* OKAY, OKAY! TAKE IT EASY!**


End file.
